


windows to her soul

by Aerielz



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU where serious shit happens, Angst, Character Study, Drabble, Gen, What Have I Done, abstract stuff, is this just fantasy, is this real life, will/alana if you squint really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:46:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerielz/pseuds/Aerielz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eyes were too telling, too direct. Emotions and thoughts, desires - all made transparent by a glance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	windows to her soul

**Author's Note:**

> I was talking to a friend a couple of days ago, and we were just playing with ideas about AUs and before I knew I started writing. The problem with that is that english is not my first language, so I probably cold-bloodedly murdered it. I'm so, so sorry. If I wrote anything too cruel just yell at me and write a comment and I'll get it right.

Will Graham was never a man to like eye contact. His place in the social disorder spectrum was to blame, he told himself and others, a very mild form of something unnamed, toeing the lines of autism. Not completely a lie, but nothing like the truth, either. He told Jack something, once, that was more akin to the reality about it. Eyes were too telling, too direct. Emotions and thoughts, _desires_ \- all made transparent by a glance. It was always someone’s eyes to tell when their smile was sincere, when they lied, when they were hiding something. Nerves, muscles and your own brain could betray your will and agenda like something that existed apart from yourself. _Windows to the soul_ , they say. And Will Graham was already too used to peer into people’s soul.  


More than just social anxiety or trust issues, he was genuinely scared of looking into someone’s eyes. His empathy and ability to read everything between expression lines were things he was sure no one was meant to have. The closest thing to mind reading available. _No one was meant to know what people think or feel_. An already clichéd motto that made too much sense for him to ignore.  


Looking into Jack’s eyes was torture, looking into Hannibal’s eyes was confusing, looking into Abigail’s eyes were to look at a mirror. But looking into Alana’s eyes was painful and soothing, altogether.  


Clear green contrasting beautifully with dark pupil and hair, always sweet and soft. All fire, strength, safety and steadiness. Trust. _Home_.  
Just a second and all of the things in Alana’s clear orbs would put his mind to a full stop. Peace, and he wanted to lose himself in her gaze forever. Chain himself to the ground and walls she provided him.  


She’d look away, because Alana Bloom wasn’t a woman to like too much eyes contact either. Not with him, at least. He’d feel the stark white lines of his own faults creeping into his bloodstream again, occupy corners of his mind he never know existed, seep into every cell, every thought, as if something both physical and ethereal that plagued him from the inside out, rooting itself on his heart and on the first memories he had of himself just to make sure he could never get rid of it. It brightened everything else to the point of blinding and he’d lost himself in too much light, thinking that, if darkness was his problem, his mind’s eye could’ve at least get accustomed to it.  


Being dragged in and out of his insanity every time his gaze crossed hers had always been exhausting, but not now. Now, her wide-open eyes pierced deep inside his mind without telling him a thing, not surrounding him of false hopes nor the paper-thin shelter that always seemed too real. Her face had been cleaned of any sort of expression, her mouth slightly parted, but not beckoning him to press his against it anymore. It was wrong. All of that, too wrong. Too much contrast. She was too pale, her hair too black, her pupils too big and her blood too red. Too much red. Alana lay in a pool of scarlet, between his legs. He raised a trembling hand to feel her pulse, tinting her before white face and neck crimson. His other hand fisted against a knife he didn’t know he was holding, but that he know to be buried inside her stomach.  


His eyes glistened and burned and a cry left his throat.  


Will Graham’s eyes locked themselves to her lifeless ones one more time before he shut them tight - the tightest he could -, praying to a god that he was not so sure existed that he would find himself sweating and screaming in his house the next time he opened them.


End file.
